You know what I love?
Mayonnaise.
I am obsessed with mayonnaise. It is without a doubt, the single greatest condiment that man has ever created. I cannot imagine eating a sandwich without it.
But recently, my TV told me I should not like mayonnaise. I was told mayonnaise was for squares and people that do not have hip parties on rooftops.
Miracle Whip is trying to ruin the condiment that I love.
Within the last couple of weeks, Miracle Whip has started airing a series of advertisements that feature a group of young, trendy-looking people enjoying a party.
Several times, viewers see any one of the people eating chicken salad or a sandwich that prominently features the mayo substitute.
While a semi-punk soundtrack plays, a commanding voice speaks about how Miracle Whip is a different and unique condiment, for a different and unique generation.
“Don’t go unnoticed,” the narrator says. “Don’t blend in.”
I suppose using Miracle Whip is apparently the way all the cool kids are recognizable, which I guess makes sense, because I am constantly hearing this conversation:
Cindy: Hey, what’s that on your sandwich?
Bob: Oh, it’s Miracle Whip.
Cindy: Bob, you’re so unique. I think I love you.
Now, this isn’t the first time some standard product has tried to reinvent itself as the cool new brand, so it’s not particularly upsetting.
Or so I thought.
About halfway through the advertisement, the announcer says “Don’t be ordinary, boring or bland. In other words, don’t be so mayo.” As he says this, the camera shows just some normal guy, sitting in a folding chair by himself in a corner with a glass of water.
I know, it’s heartbreaking. I can’t believe that all of these years that I have used mayonnaise, I have been regarded as nothing more than some friendless, corner-sitting square.
To top it all off, the ending of each commercial is ridiculous. While the words “We are Miracle Whip and we will not tone it down” are shown on the screen and spoken by the charmingly anti-authority narrator, a girl writhes around with a bottle of Miracle Whip in what can only be described as some sort of hipster mating ritual.
All together, it is one nauseating trip through selling a mayo substitute as something that is cool and edgy.
Miracle Whip should be a product that sells itself pretty well. It’s a healthier mayonnaise that boasts a sort of different flavor. That in and of itself does not send the condiment flying off the shelf, but it has kept the company afloat.
I don’t understand why the company has suddenly decided to market Miracle Whip to a younger demographic that assuredly does not care what tangy condiment they are throwing on their sandwich.
Who am I kidding? The real reason this commercial gets to me is because it tries to make mayonnaise and by extension, me, sound lame.
Jackson Adams is a sophomore journalism major from Springfield. He is the assistant Voice editor.
Direct questions, comments and other responses to jadams@mail.bradley.edu.
